


The Gift

by DenseHumboldt



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Forbidden Love, Ronebula
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenseHumboldt/pseuds/DenseHumboldt
Summary: A Crime Noir Alternate Universe Ronebula fic. Set during Guardians point in the timeline but completely canon divergent.Ronan and Nebula fall in love and plot against her father.
Relationships: Nebula/Ronan the Accuser
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Patheticnature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patheticnature/gifts).



> Prompt by my precious smols! I hope you like it.

Ronan received the hail signal but the viewer remained blank. Only one entity dared to disguise their face from the Accuser.

"You didn't call."

"I took care of it," Ronan stood from his seat and walked around his desk, the blank projection shuddered and flipped to keep him in frame. So, he was being watched.

"You were injured, is that what you were trying to hide?" The deep baritone of his benefactor's voice made the styli and datapads rattle on Ronan's desk.

Ronan spoke over his shoulder, keeping his back to the viewer. Two could play at this game. "It was nothing a few hours in the plasma tanks could not heal. Pain is instructive."

"Can I trust you to complete this task for me?"

"Of course," Ronan turned back to the viewer and leaned his hands on the desk. He snarled, his teeth white and glistening against his blue skin. "I killed the man who harmed me and the guards who failed to protect me. I will not fail nor will I accept failure."

"I am sending you a gift. Consider it a 'get well soon' present."

The viewer went blank and Ronan pounded his fist into the desk.

Thanos.

He was necessary, but he made the Kree's blood boil. Ronan could not forgive, he had no capacity for it. He would not forgive Xandar despite its weak treaty with Hala and once this was over he would not forgive Thanos for belittling him. Until then, Ronan did not have the means to turn down the forces Thanos offered.

His own Accusers had been split by his zealous desire to depose the Supreme Intelligence and return to the old ways. Ronan had been partially successful in his quest, he had damaged the machine that held his people hostage, but many of the Accusers who had stood beside him perished in the assault.

Now a weak Kree government was bowing and scraping to appease old enemies, while the Supremor's sycophants clamoured to repair the false god. And Ronan was forced to crouch in the shadows.

Thanos had offered him a means to recoup his losses, but only if Ronan delivered an artifact to him.

His means of doing this were weak and indirect. They ate at Ronan, but he persevered. He was on Xandar, in the cradle of his enemy, the gaudy capital city. Here Ronan operated behind the scenes, wealth and power allowed him to show his open disgust for the Xandarians and yet they could not stay away. Every night they flocked to his glamourous night clubs and gambling halls. When they went broke they sold their jewels in his pawnshops.

Ronan let the Xandarian pawn brokers and low lifes do his work, hiring contract mercenaries to find the orb that Ronan sought. They were spurred by his promise to leave Xandar once the orb was brought to him. He knew there were other buyers, but his web of desperate thralls would alert him if anyone found it and intended to sell it to a higher bidder.

There would be no higher bidder.

* * *

Nebula stretched, feeling muscle move over plates of metal. She rolled her head back and forth and was aware of where the bundles of thin cables traced her veins, leading to the power source below her heart.

The lenses in her left eye whirred and she blinked against the momentary doubling effect that plagued her. She never mentioned it, she hid it, wary that if a small fraction of time she was less than perfection, beholden to her flesh and grey matter that they would remove her remaining eye.

She recognized this was the correct choice tactically speaking but she could not stomach the thought of only seeing glass in her reflection. Her right eye made her feel more whole than any remaining limb.

The sensation of being part machine would go away if she forgave it. If she forgave her father for his gifts. The doctors had promised this, but Nebula would always exist in compartments of skin and metal, blood and fluid. They would not intertwine in her body, because she would not allow them to.

She wanted the power her father offered with his augmentation and training. She wanted the control she could shape her rage into, but more than anything she wanted freedom.

Waiting as the airlock depressurized, watching the shadows of ships through the polarized glass, Nebula felt on the edge of that freedom. She had never been on a mission without Gamora before, or some other keeper sent by her father, haunting the shadows as she worked.

She would be watched here too, but she could taste the difference. She would find something here that had been missing. Her father had made a mistake sending Nebula, because he did not have her love and somewhere on Xandar was a man who did not fear him.

* * *

Ronan did not like attending to incidents on the floor of his ventures. He owned these places to keep the elite of Xandar like fatted calves, joyous and slaking their vices but ultimately a sacrifice to his aspirations. Moving among them made him feel dirty, but this was an incident that could not be ignored. Not when it had ended in death.

His guards walked with him, one in front, one behind and two on either side. They were dressed in finely tailored clothes, but beneath was thin helgentar silk, impenetrable to heat and blades. Ronan did not bother, he would wear only crafted Kree armour, anything less was an insult.

He could feel the movement of his guards' eyes, sliding over him before darting away to the surroundings. Only a day had past since he had killed four of their number. He could not trust his attacker had not been let through their defences intentionally. Everyone could be corrupted. Everyone had a price.

He heard the fast click of heels and he recognized their pace, only one woman moved that fast in these places. Ronan felt the movement of his guards increasing their perimeter the way one might feel the drawing of breath, the bulk of their bodies pushing the crowd farther back. Han-Nar's fast steps allowed her to duck fluidly and gracefully to her place by his side. Never an Accuser, she was a noble daughter of an ancient house. Now she was his secretary, more so she was the true master of his operations.

"Han-Nar, could you not attend to this yourself?" Ronan asked through clenching teeth. He didn't need to turn his head to know Xandarians milled, with wide watery eyes, watching his progress through the club.

"Are you still in pain?" There was no sympathy in her voice, she was challenging him. She was lucky he found it amusing.

"Do you hope to give them a second chance to finish me off?"

"Has our benefactor been in touch?" Han-Nar raised an eyebrow and though he did not alter his pace Ronan realized why Han-Nar had really called him. Thanos' gift.

"Yes."

They stopped and the guards fell back, there was a man sprawled on the table with his arms and legs hanging limply over the edges of the small gold top. Through his chest was an implement. Dark green blood oozed around the hole. Ronan stepped closer, it was not a weapon. Not in the traditional sense. It was leg from the upturned chair discarded to the side. Ripped off and impaled through the hard exoskeleton of his body.

"Another Fergolian?"

Han-Nar's nails clicked against the datapad. "We can't find him on any scans or security information. It's like he just appeared."

Ronan was wary of the blood, it was already eating the metal of the table and chair. His body was still warm then. He was dead but he had not had time to cool down enough to render his blood inert.

"What temperature is it in here?" Ronan asked walking around the table.

"24, when there is movement it can reach 27. They're just gawking now."

"When did you find him?"

"There was a loud noise, and the body appeared ten minutes ago."

"Any record?"

Han-Nar handed him the datapad. The view of the table was playing in fluorescent pinks, oranges and blues. He slid his finger across the screen and it became tinted green with thermal vision. He could see the orange glow of the dancing Xandarians, the table was unoccupied. There was a blur of a group of three skirting around the bar. Then a bang as the table jostled. He saw patrons pause and turn. The chair fell seemingly of its own accord then the Fergolian appeared, the broken leg protruding from his chest as he twitched and went limp.

Ronan looked more closely and saw that the leg had been driven perfectly through a cloaking device.

"He was cloaked and fell from above. The killer is still here. Let ck down, do a full sweep. If anyone gives you trouble kill them as an example."

Ronan handed Han-Nar the datapad back as he straightened his cuffs and began walking back through the crowd. Han-Nar was tapping furiously on her datapad as the guards closed around them again.

"What makes you say that?"

"This was not an act of charity. They will want something."

They parted at the doors, already his commands were in effect and the Xandarians were being herded out. Ronan closed his eyes as the turbo lift began traveling upwards to his quarters.

Fergol. What had he done there to draw their attention? He had written off the species of his attacker the night before. Guns for hire were never helpful in identifying their clients. Especially once they were dead, but a second Fergolian? Fergol was not a place of warriors. This was significant.

Was the body his gift? Dropped into place where it was sure to cause a stir? Where it was clear he could not be harmed without swift retribution?

Ronan opened his eyes as the lift slowed, the doors opened and the air wavered for a moment. Then four blue bolts cut the air and his guards dropped one by one, their blood sizzling.

Another Fergolian blinked into existence as Ronan roared and charged the armoured body. He slammed into them, feeling their feet skid backward. Their body's thick exoskeleton hid their throat and he could not crush their windpipe as he wished to.

They grappled in the hallway. Ronan used the large span of his hand to cover the vents of the Fergolian's breather. They struggled to pull in breath, their lungs were not made for the atmosphere of Xandar, they were choking on the lack of carbon in the air.

"Who sent you?" Ronan growled, forcing the would-be assassin's head back. The lack of neck making them stumble.

"No one," the words buzzed against his palm, modulated through the breather.

Ronan held their gun arm out wide, the joint grinding painfully so they could not fire their shot. Their other hand flailed limply and Ronan noticed too late the prongs at their wrist. They lodged into his side, digging into his barely healed wound.

The electricity surged and Ronan's muscles tensed and went slack for a split second, long enough the assassin could shove him back and pull in gasps of air through their breather. They swayed bringing their aching gun hand up to fire.

They never got the chance, a blade protruded from their chest as their breather whirred and died, their blood staining the weapon green so it floated like a phantom shard in the air.

There was a slick sliding sound and the body dropped. The blood disappeared as the blade was wiped on the attacker's clothes.

"It eats metal. I would clean your weapon more thoroughly," Ronan said to the air.

There was a shimmer and a woman appeared in front of him. She ignored him and pulled out a cannister, it hissed as she sprayed the blade with coolant. She was familiar with her opponent's biology, she was trained.

She sheathed the blade and looked at him with a cock of her head. Her augmented eye focused. He let her take him in.

"You're injured."

"It's insignificant."

"That is a violation of my duties. Follow me."

She walked down the hall towards his quarters. She was confident in her strides. He wondered how long she had been haunting the building.

"Why did you let them kill my guards?"

"They were extraneous." She never turned her head. When she reached his room she keyed in a code he didn't recognize.

The lock opened.

"You have given yourself permissions," he observed. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other.

"Your system is substandard."

"That's not what I was promised."

"Do you make decisions based on the promises of others?" She strode into his quarters as if they were her own. Ronan wondered at her willingness to turn her back on him.

"Do you expect a reward for killing the Fergolians?"

He followed her and watched her typing on the interface of his desk.

"No," she answered finitely, moving to the service hatch and removing the med kit she had ordered.

"I will use the plasma tank." Ronan let his eyes drift over her form, taking in the speed her prosthetics answered her commands. Someone had invested great value in her. "In private."

She shoved the medkit back in the hatch, a small spark of rage evident in the set of her shoulders. Fascinating. She had said his health was part of her concern.

"Suit yourself."

She moved silently around his apartment, her hands feeling beneath ledges. She was looking for plants.

"I meant you should leave."

"Are my quarters ready?" She turned her head a fraction. Her voice was deep and scratching. He wondered if the augments ran down her throat or if she had learned to speak this way by some other training.

"Why would I provide you with quarters?"

Her hand froze and her body stilled.

"It would be a better arrangement."

"I am behind in your plan," Ronan reached up and pulled at his cravat. He set his teeth and breathed slowly, aware pinholes of blue blood would be seeping down his side.

She rolled her one natural eye and crossed to him. He let her reach up and free his collar, pulling away the helgentar silk tie. Beautiful, but its true purpose was as a deadly garrote should the need arise. Her hands slid beneath his jacket and pushed it from his shoulders.

"Then my father was right to question your suitability for this mission."

"Your father? Are you-?"

"Nebula," she answered him standing on her toes to remove his jacket for him. He looked at her with newfound interest. "Daughter of Thanos. And your gift."


End file.
